Fleeting Time
by nummy12345
Summary: AU Captain Swan multi-chapter fic. Instead of being transported to our time before the curse, Emma was taken to New York in the 1870s.
1. Chapter 1

Hey guy. So this is an AU story. Here's a little background information:

Everything that happened in the past in the Enchanted Forest before Regina cast the curse still happened. Emma was still put through the portal but instead of winding up in the present day, she wound up in New York in the 1870s as a baby and was placed in an orphanage. The curse backfired and failed after it was cast by Regina. Everyone except Emma is still in the Enchanted Forest but there has been significant damage done as a result of the curse. Emma was adopted by the Van der Meer family when she was three-years-old (think old money New York). She is currently a teenager, about to turn 17-years-old and has been committed to a hospital to treat those deemed insane. The first two chapters will be very depressing (I'm sorry) before things start to pick up.

I don't own OUAT. I just have an active imagination.

Enjoy.

CHAPTER ONE

ASYLUM

New York 1887

If you're good you can have tea along with a ration of porridge and bread, but you had to be good. While the tea is only that by name, it is better to have than not to have. Complaints did nothing but leave you hungry; as anyone who stepped foot in Padua Asylum knew it was useless to say anything to the nurses. Cold tea in a tin mug on a brisk winter day was fought for by many. Although the definition of good varied from nurse to nurse, and of course from patient to patient, when the attending nurse handed you a cup of so-called earl grey, you took it thankfully and forced a smile knowing that she must of deemed you as good this morning. Since arriving in Padua six months ago, Emma Van der Meer on most days wasn't considered good at all.

Weak earl grey wasn't a favorite of hers, but here you didn't have the luxury of options nor an opinion. She sipped her tea from the tin mug in silence while searching and finding specks of dirt to focus on the dull off-white walls. There were eighteen other girls and women mingling of various ages in what was called a 'dining room' by the attendants, but known to every patient as the slop hall. Most days Emma kept to herself. Not because she enjoyed the solitude, and not because she didn't enjoy a conversation. No, Emma kept to herself out of fear of being viewed as bad. Most mornings, her ward's attending nurse Mrs. Garvey declared her bad before bread had been rationed out to patients. She had been called bad for not finishing her entire meal. Another time for laughing too loud. Once she was bad for biting her nails. She lived on pins and needles. Any direction she stepped would sting.

This morning when she entered slop hall she sat by the small window in the far left corner on a worn splintered bench. Margaret, a girl one year older than her with green eyes and pale blonde hair took a seat across from her. Her's was a sad tale for Margaret was not even her given birth name. She was brought here a year before, deemed insane by several doctors and never once able to defend herself. She spoke no English at the time. The more she fought them, the more insane they claimed her to be and she was transferred to ward 210. It was Mrs. Garvey who began to call the girl with no name Margaret.

Emma watched as Margaret fiddled with her hair and softly laughed at her own reflection in the tin cup of earl grey she had claimed. When the attending nurse began placing a tray with several bowls of porridge and slices of unbuttered bread on the long table she frowned. For sure this behavior Margaret exhibited would be called bad by the nurse, and she would be whisked away to her room losing her right to socialize in the airing courts after breakfast.

She was. "Margaret, that is not proper behavior at breakfast," the attending nurse said her lips forming a thin line as her bushy eyebrows arched. Margaret continued to laugh ignoring whatever displeasure her boisterous sounds caused those around her. Emma focused on the bowl she had procured herself and placed in front of her.

_One. Two._

She paced herself as she ate. Breakfast was particularly foul this morning. The porridge was cold and watered down. The slice of wheat bread was stale. It was a harsh winter, the coldest night she had experienced thus far and here she was fighting down cold much. Six months before she would have turned her nose at it. But as Mrs. Garvey warned on her first day at Padua, "you should not snub your nose at charity little girl."

The airing courts were opened later in the morning after breakfast. You were handed a worn straw hat and a thin cotton shawl for warmth before attendants marched patients in two straight lines to a room outdoors surrounded with netting. There you could sit around leisurely and enjoy the sliver of warmth from the dull winter sunlight. If you were not taken to the airing courts, you were taken back to the confinement of your room. There you would be secluded with whatever demons haunted your mind till dinner. That's if they deemed you worthy enough of attending dinner.

"Emma," the voice was harsh and caused her to drop her spoon. "You are not being very good."

Emma's brown eyes met those of the her attending nurse Mrs. Garvey who stood before her with arms crossed.

"I have finished my tea," she said with pleading eyes. "I am nearly done with my breakfast."

"Yes, but look at how you shake. I'm sorry Emma, but today there will be no airing court. I can't allow it with such violent shaking. What kind of nurse would I be if I didn't force you to rest, little girl?"

_Awful woman_, she thought. Yes, Emma shook, but any woman would if they were subjected to the conditions she were in. For starters Padua had no heat as they did not start burning coal till towards the end of December. Second, her physician, Dr. Eaton said it was caused by her acute melancholia. Shaking was out of her control. She could feel tears begin to swell in the corner of her eyes. She inhaled to bite them back and they stung.

"No cry. They hurt you," Margaret whispered with her thick accent in her ear after Mrs. Garvey had stepped away to call for assistance from the other nurses. "They hurt you Em-mah. They hurt you."

She nodded.

She spent many afternoons secluded in her room with only her thoughts to occupy her. Unlike many of the other woman in the asylum, Emma was forced to be in a room alone. Two female nurses came to greet her at the table with Margaret. Mrs. Garvey frowned once more as she eyed the two girls. Her hair was covered under her white cap, and her black apron hung loosely around her shoulders. It had been untied from her backside. The white uniform of both nurses before her were both sordid. They were littered with many stains. Some stains were fresh hues of rust.

_Don't let them see you as weak_.

"We will take you back to your room Emma," she said offering her hand.

Emma nodded, but didn't accept her gesture of implied kindness. The staff were never willingly kind, it was always a ruse.

With her time in Padua, she had imprinted in her mind words to help keep her composure. _You only need to take the first step. Bravery will follow._

When she swung her legs around the bench to stand, the two nurses each grabbed an arm and escorted her away from the slop hall back down the long corridors to ward 210.

She laid alone in the drafty room on the dirt riddled mattress that was stuffed with straw with only a thin cotton sheet to provide any feasible warmth. The room was dull in appearance with only the bed and a small table next to it. Unlike the other patients in ward 210, Emma was assigned to bunk alone by recommendations of Mrs. Garvey and her doctor. She was not allowed books, nor paper and pen to write. Time in her room, was time spent drifting in and out of consciousness. In her tiny room she lost herself.

She assumed it had been hours since breakfast; light faded from the crack beneath her door and darkness hedged over her. Some nights, if she were lucky, she could see the reflection of the moon through the iron barred window while she laid in bed. It gave her solace.

"Why are you here Emma?" The voice of her physician Dr. Eaton echoed through her thoughts.

"Because I am mad," she acknowledged with heavy eyes. Although she voiced what they wanted to hear, she never believed herself to be insane. If anything Padua would be what made her appear crazy. Emma had smaller regard for Dr. Eaton's abilities as a doctor than of any physician she had encountered in her lifetime. It was only after answering one question that she had overheard the doctor telling Mrs. Garvey, "she is beyond hope and I doubt we shall be able to do a thing for the poor girl. She is sick, perhaps a threat to herself. I recommend placing her in ward 210."

There were cries behind her closed door. There were always cries. Ward 210 after all is where they sent patients they judged as extreme cases. Some were truly mad, some ill, and some were poor souls who pinched the nerve of the wrong nurse. Somehow Emma managed to leave her thoughts and dull her senses enough to sleep.

_The clock struck seven. It echoed throughout the empty hall. Wailing cries emanated down the hallway from behind a large oak door._

_One. Two._

_Emma sat across from her father's antique clock on the hard wooden floor. Her pale hands cradling her knees in near darkness. Soft auburn curls hung over her face. The only light was the faint flicker from an oil lamp towards the entryway._

_Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock._

_The pendulum swayed. Emma's step-grandmother would be sending her carriage soon. She had sent her card addressed earlier in the day. Written neatly in cursive with a small blot of ink at the cards tip, Emma read that her cousin Teddy would arrive in the evening to escort her to her grandmother's home indefinably. Dr. Eaton would surely be called, and the thought of that man made her wince._

_A spiderweb of lightning weaved it's way through the darkened sky. It flooded through the window for a brief moment before claps of thunder roared. Still Emma could hear the hoofs clacking on the cobblestone as the carriage arrived. Somehow she managed to pull herself up, and her finger wrapped themselves tightly to the banister of the staircase. Emma gripped till her hands turned white, for she feared that if she were to let go she would lose her footing and fall to the floor a nervous wreck._

_There were three loud knocks coming from the front door. The parlor maid made her way to open it. It creaked open as another round of thunder struck. When cousin Teddy arrived, his face was flushed and his brown eyes had large dark circles. Even though her card didn't mention she was coming, Emma's grandmother followed behind him handing her silk brocade cape to the parlor maid and removing a bonnet adorned with many rhinestones and grosgrain ribbon. Cousin Teddy removed neither his hat nor coat. His expression was worried, and he looked down at Emma with disdain. Still he visibly forced himself to offer her a weak smile._

_"My dear child, where is your mother?"_

_She drew in a sharp breath and held it a moment. Emma's mother had locked herself in her father's gentlemen library. When she had tried to enter earlier, she began screaming fanatically and throwing books from the shelves towards the door. Her grandmother was looking her over with cautious eyes. They were cold and questioning. The simple look alone was enough to make Emma feel small and insignificant. She was after all in a room with two adults towering over her. She felt like a little pebble in-between two enormous mountains._

_"Mother is-" there was a loud shriek stemming from the depths of the house. She winced. "I-in the library." Slowly she managed another breath._

_Cousin Teddy hurried past her. Upon entering the library, they heard his voice call out the distraught woman's name, Edith. Her grandmother held her gloved hand to her lips and cleared her throat. She clearly was trying to advert her attention. Looking up at her, she stood tall and mighty, completely unfazed by the screaming. Her eyes carried around the room inspecting little details. Occasionally she'd go, "hmm." She ran a finger along the edge of the moulding on the wall. As she lifted her gloved finger up towards her eyes to inspect it, her lips pursed together tightly, and one of her gray-tinted eyebrows arched. There was another scream, and Emma's knees buckled. She lost all sense of composure. The urge to cry which she had desperately held in faltered._

_"Crying, I have been told, shows that you are weak," her grandmother hissed._

_"I don't know if I believe that, but I will do my best to not do it anyway."_

_The answer caused the elderly woman to yet again raise her eyebrow. This is hard, Emma thought. One of the tears that had been lingering in the corner of her eye finally released. It rolled down her warm cheek; it burned._

_"My dear child," her grandmother said cupping her granddaughter's red face in her hands. "Imagine what Dr. Eaton will say when he hears of this."_

_"Granny," Emma whimpered. "Please don't send me to that man."_

_She snickered at the pleading request and gently released her face. She reached for her now dangling hand and took it in hers. They laced their fingers together, and Emma saw a solemn look on her grandmother's face through her blurred eyes. She gave her a reassuring squeeze._

_"Dr. Eaton will help you," she said._

_Her lips kept moving but everything became blurry and the ground felt like it was slipping out from under Emma's feet. Her grandmother's cloudy blue eyes were narrowed and seemed to be reflecting coldness. The hair on her arms prickled up._

_"Granny-" she began, but the elderly woman stopped her by looking away as if what she had to say was of no real importance. "I-he frightens me. Oh, he frightens me so!"_

_"You are a sick girl. Come along child," she said sternly. "I have already sent for your things to be brought home. We have a lot of conversation ahead of us my dear. I have not seen you since my return from Europe to see your Aunt Jane and that man."_

_That man was how her grandmother addressed her youngest daughter Jane's husband Henry Spencer. Jane's husband, according to Emma's grandmother, "had enough of her late husband's money," and on many occasions said she was hoping Jane could manage, "the archaic European traditions."_

_There was another cry. A lump formed in the back of her throat. Emma sniffled and wiped her nose with my wrist. Her grandmother's expression at the action was appalled. She looked down towards her as if she had committed an unspeakable sin._

_"I can't stand it Granny. I simply can't stand it!" She yanked her hand free from her grip, and dashed towards the library ignoring the calls from her grandmother to stop._

_As she reached the door, she pressed her right ear against the hard cool wood. Faint whispers of her cousin Teddy's voice trying to soothe her mother. The door slowly slid open from the weight of her body. A blinding white light radiating from the crack. As her eyes adjusted to the light, she saw them both sitting on the floor. Her mother was draped in cousin Teddy's lap. Her one hand pounding hard on the floor. Her knuckles were caked with blood. He held her, and for a moment shook her as she sobbed heavily into his pant leg._

_"Heavens Edith," he managed through her crying. "Stop this madness. It cannot be undone."_

_His voice was heavy. It tip-toed on the borderline of concern and anger._

_"What do you care," she sobbed._

_"I care! I do! I care!"_

_His eyes slid from his lap to the crack in the door. His expression was now stone. His face reddened and Emma understood as he groaned out that she was unwelcome in their conversation. Pressure creeped up her left shoulder. She gasped as her grandmother's fingers wrapped around it, and pressed hard before pulling her away. Emma tripped over her own right foot, but because of the tight grip pressing into her shoulder she managed to not fall over._

_Her grandmother pointed towards the door her eyes were narrowed at the parlor maid. "Close the door!"_

_The parlor maid gently shut the library door before excusing herself._

_"Young ladies'," she began with her southern drawl emerging for the first time in years, "don't need to be poking their noses where it don't belong!"_

_"Yes Granny." She was defeated._

_Her grandmother's lips were pressed together and her nose crinkled up. Emma shook, her breathing was sporadic. The elderly woman reached out her free hand, and wrapped it around her granddaughter's right arm as she pushed her against the wall. She was pinned down, and frightened._

_Tick. Tock._

_The swinging pendulum smacked against her ears. The shaking stopped. Her grandmother became wide eyed. The cloudy gray eyes rolled towards the clock before loosing her grip._

_"That is not my daughter!" Her mother's voice was loud enough to break past the barrier of the door. "She doesn't belong here! I don't want her her here!"_

_Emma covered her mouth in horror as her mother's frantic screaming and cousin Teddy's intense shouting deafened her._

_Her grandmother cleared her throat. "Come along child. We wont be wasting anymore time here."_

_Emma's eyes swayed towards the clock. It did not go unnoticed._

_"Take that ugly thing out of this house instantly," her grandmother said to the parlor maid. "I do not want to see that clock again."_

_The parlor maid nodded._

_"Now than my dear, what would you like to try on first the pink or the blue?"_

_She opened her eyes, no longer in the entryway to her home but standing in her grandmother's room next to a large trunk which her personal maid Anna was unpacking._

_"When did we get here?"_

_Her grandmother rolled her eyes as she fanned herself. "It has been a long night. Perhaps you better rest. We arrived quite some time. Don't you remember?"_

_"What time is it?"_

_She cleared her throat. "That my dear child does not matter."_

She woke from her dream panting. Sweat trickled down her back. This night she had dreamed of the past, but many nights Emma dreamed of events that felt real, but were too queer to be anything feasible. Nights she dreamed of her family made realize the truth of her situation. Her own mother had claimed she was not her own. While she was adopted, she never understood how her mother could feel this way. She had been alone for so long at the orphanage. The day Edith Van der Meer waltzed in with open arms she felt she had been saved. Yet here she was, a few years older and once again alone. Each day the Dr. Eaton's words loomed over her, "they will lock you away in this building, and you will be forgotten." And she had.

In the hospital, Emma was just another patient deemed an extreme case according to Dr. Eaton. On paper, she had been admitted to get away from the stress the city brings and to deal with the depression caused by the trauma her father put her through by abandoning her; Emma had been abandoned not once in her lifetime, but twice.

In Padua there was no time. Nights and days slipped into one another. If you were good, the nurses would let you participate in recreational therapy but if you were not good-your treatment was unpredictable. Many days she'd question how long she'd actually been in the asylum. Six months, they'd remind her as they frequently reminded each patient. But six months felt like a lifetime.

Footsteps ceased beyond her door. There was a shuffling of papers and a loud click. The large door creaked open. There stood Dr. Eaton holding a metal clipboard. His spectacles were dark. The attending nurse to his left that held the door open shook her head at the sight of Emma who was sitting up on her mattress arms wrapped tightly around her chest shivering.

"It appears that she is awake. Give her a dose of paraldehyde," Dr. Eaton delegated.

_One. Two. Tick. Tock._

"Yes doctor."

Her eyes never fell from his dark spectacles. As the nurses hurried away to carry out his task a thin smile crossed her lips.

"Sweet dreams, Ms. Van der Meer."


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter is the last to take place in New York. Things will pick up after this. Captain Swan interactions soon.

CHAPTER TWO

THE DOCTOR

* * *

The day Emma was taken away and brought to Padua she was in an unfamiliar and unsociable part of the city. It was a place that when she was a younger child, her mother would shield her eyes if there were anything she deemed as "questionable behavior." Eventually she had concluded that to be seen with a mad member of the family would do either side of her family- the Van der Meer or Barrington- any good; so her grandmother had sent her away on a fictitious day trip with cousin Teddy to see what he had promised her would be "remarkable innovations" and "investments." But instead of anything remarkable she had been seized by police after cousin Teddy left her for what he said would be momentarily in their family carriage. The police dragged her forcibly to the streets as her screams for help fell of deaf ears. They had thrown Emma in a small carriage with poorly covered windows. As it embarked for Padua she watched as several young children chased the police carriage in hopes they would catch a glimpse of the mad girl. She would never forget the memory of cousin Teddy turning his back to her as they police forced her into the carriage. She had begged and pleaded with him to stop whatever was happening. That memory she dreamed and thought of often.

The day before she was taken, Emma had attended an early morning session with Dr. Eaton; at her grandmother's request, he made the rare house call. The words nonsense and absurd bit into her ear and unnerved her. While he claimed to be a man dedicated to helping those for the better good, she found him condescending of her troubles and patronizing of the illness he swore she had.

Although the entrance of Dr. Eaton in her life was within the last year, Emma felt it had been much longer. He picked and prodded at every memory and every feeling she had in her life until one day he had successfully broken her. Emma had never trusted the man, and had built walls to protect revealing too much of herself to the physician.

The day before she was taken, a nightmare shook her to her core. In her dream were soldiers in black armor fighting a man holding an infant. A knight, or perhaps a prince, she wasn't quite sure. He bled, gritted his teeth, and his face was filled with so much grief, but he fought on. The man fought until it was safe to place the infant in a carriage or cupboard, she was never sure because darkness would narrow in at this point. The last thing she remembered was he leaned over the infant and gave a faint smile before darkness consumed everything.

During her session Emma slipped.

The question, "What plagued your mind enough to have your grandmother claim that you were screaming in terror while sleeping?"

She whispered, "a knight." Panic washed over her when she realized her mistake. But it was too late, his eyes widened and glimmered something unreadable. 

The daylight grew strong, but the silence was strikingly still beyond her door. When her eyes slid open she exhaled. Her breathe was visible, and she shook. She was always shaking. Her teeth clattered against one another as she rubbed her arms trying to create enough friction to offer even a slight moment of warmth.

"Everyone up!"

The footsteps began. Doors were being unlocked and patients pulled from their slumber to march to the washroom. Emma continued to rub her arms until she heard the padlock click from her door. An older woman with brown eyes motioned with her hands for her to follow. She obliged and threw her blanket carelessly to the floor.

The corridors of Padua were without carpet and each wall were a dull off-white. At the end of each hallway were iron bared doors with an attendant stationed on either side to monitor. The windows were few and far between one another. They offered little sun if there was any as most days were gloomy in the winter. Heating was out of the question until the middle of December. Each day as the nurses and attendants huddled for warmth in their break areas with large coats and personal oil lamps, the poor woman were left to freeze in thin cotton frocks and worn old shoes many of which had soles coming undone.

The washroom was in her own opinion the most dreadful place. The water was rarely changed. It was a murky grey color where clumps of hair and soap suds floated. It was never heated. Every woman was forced into the ice cold water by a nurse who would scrub vigorously at your skin with soap that was sure to cause a rash. After baths they lined the patients up on a bench and tended to their hair with one of the six or seven combs they had. They were never gentle. Many woman begged for their hair to be lopped down to avoid the tugging and carelessness the nurses showed toward them. They never would.

Each day in Padua was consistent. After the washroom, the patients formed two straight lines and marched to the slop hall. Breakfast never changed; runny cold porridge with a slice of stale bread accompanied with weak tea. If you were good, you went to socialize in the airing courts. After that you marched to what they called a sitting room. There, nurses forced you to sit and socialize. Much of their cruel treatment was carried out here. Lunch followed typically before the sun set. It was always a cold potato, slice of bread, and some cold form of meat that was unsalted and at times spoiled. After lunch, you saw your doctor.

Emma's doctor was Dr. Eaton.

Last season, which felt like a lifetime before being brought to the asylum as it was before her father left and her mother became ill, Emma's grandmother started to send her the doctor who was renowned in New York as a specialist of the mind. At first, sessions-that's what he called them-were few and far between. But soon they were frequent, and the doctor deemed her sick in the mind; he told her grandmother that Emma was insane and needed to be admitted for daily treatment promptly.

"If it [her insanity] progresses everything we have built will fall apart," the doctor warned the Van der Meer family as Emma sat silently amongst them without a voice to defend herself. Her grandmother had waited, she had a reputation to uphold after all. But it wasn't long after that she ended up in Padua. 

Sessions in Padua were not the same as sessions in the city. He was a peculiar man, Dr. Eaton. No older than 40, his black hair was always slicked back and he wore circular spectacles that reflected light in them. He was tall, and always pale. His suits had burns towards the pockets from what Emma had assumed were from holding his cigar down for far too long before drags. He had a nasty habit of bitting his nails. His own nervous tick, she deducted. His white coat was always slung over his desk.

Dr. Eaton's office was larger than most rooms in the asylum. He had two windows, both locked shut and secured with iron bars. All furniture was bolted to the floor. The mahogany desk where he sat while conducting his sessions was littered with crumpled paper and stained with ink. The bench where patients sat was furthest from the window. There were no carpets, and the walls were the cleanest in Padua. Some days the attendants ordered patients to scrub them till their hands were raw and skin cracked and bled.

Emma had spent more time with the doctor than she cared to remember. Some days she was dragged by the nurses, although she never refused or showed any reluctance to going. Such was the way of Padua. Compassion believed by all to be non-existent.

_Don't look him in the eye_, she thought. _Never look him in the eye._

Dr. Eaton met her in the doorframe with lips pressed thin. He nodded as the two nurses released her arms. Imprints of their hands made her skin white. Emma walked swiftly by him into his office making her way to the bench before she heard the door close and the bolt click behind her.

Old habits die hard, "Good Morning doctor." She always greeted him, although she never wanted to.

Many days their sessions were a quick review of her charts, and questions any man would know if asked such as, "who is the current president of the United States? What is the half of one-hundred?" There were days where they sat in eerie silence as he just looked at her. The worst days, however, were the ones where he belittled her competence and questioned her about personal matters.

"What is your name," he asked already scribbling on parchment. Today was one of THOSE days.

"Emma Van der Meer."

"Your age?"

"Seventeen."

Silence fell between them. The doctor continued to write, never once glancing up toward his patient. Emma uncomfortable in the doctor's presence began to wad up the fabric of her dress with her left hand.

"Stop that." He had yet to look at her. "The name of your mother?"

"Edith Angela Barrington Van der Meer," she pointed out with no hesitation.

"Your fath-"

"My father's name is Jacob Henry Van der Meer." His eyes shot up towards her in annoyance.

"I did not finish asking that," Dr. Eaton's voice was harsh and full of warning, "You rudely interrupted my next question. Do you try to keep manners aloof in my presence Ms. Van der Meer?"

"No."

Dr. Eaton shook his head and continued to scribble down his notes; probably nonsense, she figured. The man always claimed her more lost and mad each time he conducted one of their sessions.

"Now Emma, I will hold up ink portraits and I want you to describe what you see in each picture." He pointed to a stack of several cards on his desk. She nodded that she understood. The first looked like nothing but a mess. The ink of tinted brown and splattered in no distinguishable patterns.

"I don't see anything Dr. Eaton," she said with confidence. He placed the card to his right and wrote something down before grabbing the next card.

"A man," she shivered. "It looks like the face of a man. I can see an outline of his beard, but no eyes."

Dr. Eaton followed his routine before holding the next card. She grabbed her arms and began to squeeze. The air became thick.

_Tick. Tock._

The ink looked remarkable similar to the grandfather clock from her home. Dr. Eaton's brow rose and he gestured toward her with her hand for a reply. She opened her mouth and it felt dry. This ink card made her feel threatened. A voice in the back of her thought urged her to lie, _don't say clock_.

"Ms. Van der Meer," the doctor harsh voice scolded her, "I have several other patients to attend to today."

"I see nothing." Lie. "Nothing at all."

The doctor lowered the card and removed his spectacles examining them from a distance before pulling a white linen cloth from his coat pocket. He began to clean them slowly. "Than why did you hesitate with a response?"

"I am sorry doctor. I wanted to focus and be sure before answering." She bit her bottom lip. "I know you are busy. I know your time is fleeting."

His eyes shot up towards her and narrowed. There was something dark lingering behind them that unnerved her. He tapped his temple as he watched her. Emma felt frozen to the bench. She dared not move for whatever this man was thinking made her feel threatened.

"Ms. Van der Meer," he enunciated her name, each syllable with a harsh tone, "wherever did you come across that colorful expression?"

She could feel her body shake as her heartbeat began to increase. It thudded loudly in her chest. She continued to hold her arms trying to control her movements. Dr. Eaton now rose from his chair and leaned over his desk looking at her with his dark eyes.

"I don't know." Emma's eyes fell to her lap and once again she dug her fingers into the fabric of her dress.

He began to tap his left wrist. She shook her head unable to muster up words as a large lump formed in her throat.

"Ms. Van der Meer," Dr. Eaton stressed as his voice became louder.

Emma wanted to cover her face and disappear. This man frightened her.

"Nurse!"

She heard the loud click as the attending nurse undid the bolted lock on the doctor's door. She couldn't bring herself to look up, but she could feel his piercing stare.

"Yes doctor," the voice was familiar.

"Take Ms. Van der Meer back to ward 210. Give her a dose of paraldehyde. She is not allowed to interact with the other patients. It is evident by her behavior today that we will need to take a different approach to treat her illness."

Two clammy hands wrapped hard around her arm and yanked her up from the bench forcefully. Her breathing was sporadic.

_One. Two. One. Two. Breath Emma._

"Last chance Ms. Van der Meer," he hollered.

There was a flash of light that blinded her for a moment. Her heartbeat slowed and her eyes felt cloudy. The images of Mrs. Garvey and Dr. Eaton were hazy. Mrs. Garvey began to dig her nails into the flesh of Emma's to accompany her tight painful grip. Dr. Eaton was to her right wide-eyed. A wave of confidence bubbled in her gut. He was just a man, and her thoughts convinced her that he should be no more terrifying than any other.

"Dr. Eaton, time is running out. You can't keep me here forever."

She couldn't remember being pulled away by Mrs. Garvey or any other attendant. There was no recollection of entering the iron barred doors to ward 210, or even being brought back to her room, yet there she laid with traces of her breath visible in the air. Her eyes wandered to her left arm and the large purple bruise that hadn't been their earlier in the day. She traced it with her fingertips and winced from the jolt of pain.

"Nurse," she called out.

Emma's skin was cold, and she longed for any source of warmth. Alone in the dark with only faint screams in the distance. The footsteps never came.

_When did I get here_, she pondered. The bruise could only mean that she was injected with a dull needle, but of what? The medication the doctor ordered would not cause her to blackout.

She allowed herself to close her eyes. One moment she was with Dr. Eaton in the afternoon, the next sitting alone in the dark during the evening. There was nothing in the room to occupy her, or sway her thoughts from her current predicament. Emma's thoughts willed her to lay down. _Just accept it_, she sighed.

* * *

There was a fire, only she could feel no heat. Unfamiliar buildings were burning. Men and children slaughtered one after another as deafening screams carried with the wind by soldiers in black armor carrying torches and bows and long swords. Some continuously fueled the flames by lightning stacks of hay, others lined up the villagers while a woman on a dark horse inspected them all one by one.

"I'm looking for a girl," she began with her lips twisted into a smile. "Young. Around her eighteenth year. She is traveling alone."

The villagers huddled in fear. The woman approached an elderly man who held the hand of a young boy no older than 10 with dark hair.

"You." She pointed. "How many visitors has this village come across in recent weeks?"

The elderly man released the hand of the young boy and stepped forward. "None, your majesty."

"I see." A curt nod of her head and another solder approached the elderly man and stabbed the poor soul through the middle. The boy screamed.

"Would anyone else care to share?" This woman circled around them with her horse. Woman were and children were sobbing. Men hugged their loved ones close with fear painted across all their faces. None stepped forward. "Very well."

The queen turned toward her soldiers and face fell flat. "Kill them all."

The queen rode through the trees with soldiers following behind her. The haze of red illuminated the dark skies. They stopped in a clearing where a carriage adorned with many jewels and large golden wheels waited. She climbed off her horse and snapped her fingers. The door to the carriage flew open and she entered with eyes narrowed.

"Rumpelstiltskin. You. Lied. To. Me."

A chuckle came from the man sitting inside. It was far to dark to see his features. Somehow he was a blur while the queen was perfectly clear. "Now, now your majesty. It isn't polite to accuse others for your premature action."

"Premature action?"

He clasped his hands together and grinned. "I said, eighteenth year."

"It has been eighteen years! You told me she would be hiding in that village!" She stared at him defiantly in the eye.

"Not quite yet, dearie. Not much of village left to hide in now is there?" His head snaked towards the window. A dark glint covered his eyes. "Not polite to eavesdrop."

The queen's face contorted. "What?"

The man called Rumpelstiltskin disappeared.

* * *

She woke up gasping. Dr. Eaton stood in the doorway of her dark room. He scratched the stubble on his cheek and eyed her curiously. _Why do such awful nightmares plague me_, she thought. Flustered and breathing heavily she eyed the doctor and mumbled something that made him snarl.

"Nurse!"

The overnight attendant, Mrs. Smith arrived a second later without her apron. "Yes doctor?"

"How long has it been since Ms. Van der Meer was last checked?"

Her face contorted. "I will retrieve the log. It'll be just a moment, doctor."

Lose strands of hair fell in front of her eyes. Mrs. Smith returned with a dull grey book. Emma felt a pang of annoyance surge in her veins. Mrs. Garvey totted that book around like an infant child. The log is what they called it. It's where the attendants and nurses wrote their thoughts on each patient. It's where checkups were recorded and any discrepancies noted. One evening Mrs. Garvey hovered over her with a cruel grin and thumbed through multiple pages and recited each awful thought any nurse had written about Emma. She chuckled at the more cruel notes.

Mrs. Smith had been fumbling through pages. Her finger stopped and pointed before she leaned into the book a bit. "Not since," and her voice trailed off.

Dr. Eaton folded his arms.

"Yesterday afternoon, doctor."

Emma blinked in confusion. Had truly an entire day passed her without her taking notice? Dr. Eaton forcibly snatched the log book from Mrs. Smith and scanned the page. His skin burned red, and he heaved it to the floor. The echo of it slamming to the ground made Emma flinch. Dr. Eaton's eyes were searing. The nurse hesitated a moment before she bent to pick the book up, her cautious eyes never leaving the doctor.

"She was screaming. Do you mean to say that none of the nurses noticed a screaming patient?" Dr. Eaton entered her room and crouched a foot before her bed. His gaze locked to hers.

"N-n-no, doctor," the nurse stuttered. She made an inept attempt to apologize, but Dr. Eaton cut off her words.

Emma's mouth was dry. She quickly tried to form a coherent sentence of words in her mind but everything felt jumbled. It was coming any moment now, he would turn his rage from Mrs. Smith towards her and she feared what would happen if she was unable to say a word.

Dr. Eaton shook the bolted bed violently. "What did you see?"

She could feel her throat tightening. "I-nothing!"

Lie. It was evident by the way his eyes squeezed that he saw right through her response. "Take her to solitary."

Fear welled up as one of her walls crumbled. She let them see how terrified the notion made her. A dark smile crept up his face as his gaze continued to roam over her searchingly.

"No!" Emma hurled the thin blanket from her body and grasped the edge of the bed. "No, please! Dr. Eaton, you can't!"

When you were violent, towards yourself or others they took you to a room with no light, bed, blanket, and sometimes clothing and locked you away in endless darkness. Emma had heard one nurse, Mrs. Deter describe it as a precaution and necessity for patient safety. But nobody in Padua thought of solitary this way. Solitary was where they sent women to suffer for nobody sane or mad would ever feel safe utterly alone in the darkness.

"No?" He chuckled darkly. "Solitary will help you compose that head of yours child. No distractions that help you forget. Perhaps some time there will help you muster up the clarity to remember and be honest."

Mrs. Smith snapped her fingers and motioned with her arm. Two other attendants walked up behind her. Emma began to shake.

"Dr. Eaton please!" He snickered. "Dr. Eaton I will tell you I remember just please don't!"

"Take her."

Emma screamed as clammy hands wrapped around her arms. One attendant grabbed her by the legs and pushed hard with her nails into the flesh of her legs. She tried with all her strength to kick and fight back, but it was useless. Dr. Eaton watched as the attendants struggled to pull her off the bed.

Mrs. Smith began to curse as Emma continued to kick and shake her body. "Drag her!"

Her body fell to the cold floor before being pulled up again. Dr. Eaton stood in the hallway now with his arms crossed.

"The nightmare was of a village burning," she screamed.

He didn't respond.

"There was a name!"

Other patients had woken in the dark night to her screams. Some began to yell for silence, other's began to bang on their door. Dr. Eaton's had disappeared from her vision.

"Her eyes!" an unfamiliar gasp resonated through the boisterous noise.

Everything went black.


	3. Chapter 3

So things will be picking up now. Thanks for reading. 

* * *

CHAPTER THREE

AUGUST 

The only sound that offered any comfort in the darkness was the sporadic sweeping of a broom outside her door. Emma had nothing but her thoughts as she laid on the cold hard floor of her cell in solitary. Images of the attendants pulling her from her room in ward 210 flashed like vivid illustrations in her mind. The twisted hint of satisfaction rushing through Dr. Eaton's face as he saw that she had winced with the contact of the attendants gripping her arms. For sure they had bruised her, but in solitary she was submerged in total darkness and unable to see anything in front of her eyes. There was pain when she brushed the tips of her fingers against her arms. A dull sensation towards the back of her head. She could not track how many days had passed since she arrived. In solitary she was lost.

_Tick. Tock._

_Her eyes_, replayed in her thoughts and the moment was was dragged away from ward 210.

_Tick. Tock._

Dr. Eaton had simply disappeared. She had not seen him since. It was unusual to not see the man who tormented her everyday. It didn't seem- right. Everything about his lack of presence was a warning for something was wrong.

_Tick. Tock._

The sweeper in the corridor was persistently sweeping outside her door for who knows how long. _Swish. Swash. Swish. Swash. _

She head the click from the deadbolt and she searched in the darkness for the direction the sound had come. The door creaked as it was pushed open. A dull blue light radiated through the cracks and she shielded her eyes with her forearm. The light burned.

"Emma-" an unfamiliar voice.

She cautiously lowered her arm and allowed her eyes to adjust to the light. Standing in the entryway holding a broom in one hand, and a small lantern in the other was a young man in tattered trousers and dirty coat. His hair was dark, perhaps brown maybe even black and looked somewhat curly. There was stumble lining his face. She gasped. A man. Not a doctor. Just a man.

"They would let a man work in solitary? There are naked woman being held here!" The man's eyes grew and he quickly closed the door behind him with his foot. Emma's heartbeat raced. "Get out of here! I'll scream!"

He gently laid the broom by his feet; The man held his hand up and slowly backed away until he hit the door. Emma brought her hand into a fist and held it up towards her chest. If this shady man tried anything so would go down with a fight.

"Please don't scream," he pleaded. "I'm not here to hurt you, Emma. I came here to help you."

"Help me?" an incredulous laugh escaped her lips. "Are you sure you're not a patient as well? Only someone mad would say something so unbelievable. If it weren't so dark and I could see your face I would be able to see through your fabrications in a second" She paused before her brown knitted in confusion. "Tell me sir, how do you know my name?"

"My name is-" he hesitated. "You can call me August."

He lied, it was evident by how his voice shook. Emma clenched her fist. "Peculiar name, also not what I asked."

He nodded. "Yes, well it was the only word I knew when I was asked. I arrived here in that month."

"To Padua?"

"No, here." He brought the lantern closer to his face as he gestured around him in the dim light with his free hand. "To this land. To New York."

Emma searched his face for anything to say that he fabricating his words. Truth. He believed it, he honest to God believed what he was telling her. Here in the dark cell stood a man not much older than she filled with confidence and belief. She bit hard on her lip. A dull pain lingered. "Just because you believe in something, doesn't make it true."

"That's the problem with this world, Emma."

She let her fist fall to her side. "What is?"

"Nobody believes-" he stopped and shook his head. "That's not why I am here."

"Why are you here?"

"I'm here to take you back." Truth.

"Back where?" Curiosity piqued she stepped forward tilting her head slightly as she inspected his body language. Carefully she noted that he recoiled to her close contact.

August inhaled sharply before bowing his head. "Home."

Truth. He was telling the truth. At that moment she felt as if she had walked out of the depths of darkness into full blazing sunlight. Her thoughts filled with something she had lost months before when carried away by police to that carriage. Hope.

"Truly?" Emma rushed forward and grabbed the coat collar of August startling the man. He nearly dropped the lantern from the sudden jolt. "Truly? You will truly bring me home to my mother?"

August nodded. His face became hard and his brow furrowed. Although he meant his words, it was evident by his expression he was less amiable to the idea.

"You will see your mother again," he replied looking away. "You no longer have to worry about this place because you cannot go through the- what I mean to say is, to home without your mother knowing, Emma. She will just know."

Overjoyed. The image of her mother came to mind. She would see her again. She would no longer be a prisoner treated for something she had no ailment of. She would wrap her arms around her mothers body and squeeze as tight as she could and relish in her scents and never again worry or fear of anything because nothing could be a worse fate than decaying away in Padua. She took in her image of this August, her hero. Slouched and so unsure of contact, but beaming with confidence in each word to spill from his lips. He had no doubt that when he said he would take her home and that he would help her leave Padua.

"When? August when will I go home?" Emma's smile pulled from ear and August returned it with a little smile of his own.

"We could now," he replied reaching into his coat pocket.

She clasped her hands together and closed her eyes smiling.

"But Emma, you have to trust me."

Her back stiffened at the word. Trust had become a struggle. Trust in her cousin Teddy and grandmother is what landed her a one way ticket to an asylum. Trust is what let her down when her father left to sail to The Keys and never returned. Trust is what left her feeling abandoned when her own mother looked her in the eyes and claimed to no longer want her. Before her stood a stranger who spoke true to her heart's desires and needs. He weaved beautiful words and inspired the hope that things could return to the way they once were before she was ripped away from the only life she had known. Did he not understand how much weight the word held on her shoulders and how terrifying a thing he was asking her? Yet looming in the back of her mind was the reality, even if she left Padua what was to stop them from bringing her back? Nothing.

"They will just bring me back," her face hardened. "You know they will."

August shook his head. "I promise you Emma, that they cannot bring you back here once they leave."

Something about the way the words fell from his lips were off. His eyes said he believed it to be true, but the wording. He was playing a careful game with the way he worded things with her.

"Do you believe me?" Emma asked.

"Of course I believe in you," he replied.

Emma shook her head. "That is not what I asked. Do you believe that I know when you're lying?"

"Yes." Truth.

"Would you ever lie to me?"

"No." He struggled with the short word. A lie.

"Will you take me home?"

"Yes." Truth.

Emma was now conflicted. It was not as if they could waltz out the front door to Padua. The asylum was on an island that needed to be left by ferry. Attendants were stationed at every door. The nurses did mandatory checks throughout the day and night. Even if they somehow managed to leave, it would not be long before her departure was noticed.

August ran his free hand through his hair as he watched the girl think. She was going to say no, he was sure of it. That was unacceptable.

"I know it seems unbelievable but trust me. You only need to take the first step," he offered his hand. "Bravery will follow, Emma."

In that moment, she felt winded. Her own personal motto had been voiced by another. She was no longer a child, he wasn't condescending or speaking down at her like a little girl who had no real importance or any semblance on what Dr. Eaton had called "real feelings". No, at this moment he spoke to her as an equal, and although he did not express it with words, his face, his body language said it all. August understood, and she believed it, that she was not a child and that her feelings were hurt. Her life had been uprooted and tortured by those her family placed their trust in to care for her.

Reluctantly she stepped back. "If we leave here, will you abandon me the first chance you get if something goes wrong?"

He blinked frivolously. "No."

She didn't believe him.

"I have made many mistakes in this land, Emma." Truth. "This world is full of temptations, and I've done many a thing I am not proud of." Truth. "But I promise you, I will take you home. I will not abandon you. I will get you home." Truth.

"Why?"

"Because I made a promise to keep you safe." Truth. "It is no longer safe for you here."

Emma lets her fears wash over her. She committed each horrendous event witnessed and exposed to in Padua to memory. This stranger, August, made a promise to whom? Why did it matter to him what happened to her? It had not mattered to another in the six months she had been locked away. She couldn't risk it. She couldn't risk trusting a complete stranger. It wasn't sensible. But deep down, she really wanted to.

_Tick. Tock._

She grabbed the fabric of her skirt and began to pull at it. _Bravery will follow_, she told her self. _Bravery will follow. _"Well I suppose the worst thing they could do if caught is bring me back here." She smiled. "Take me home, sir." 

* * *

"A pearl?"

August smiled as he daintily held a black pearl between his thumb and index finger. Emma and him were crouched on the floor inspecting it together in the dim light by the lantern. She was astonished that any man could believe something so ridiculous. But this man, August, he believed it whole heartily.

"Explain it to me again, please."

"Emma it is simple. We crack this pearl, and it will create a way to take us home." He grinned wide from ear to ear.

"Oh." Her nose scrunched up and she eyed him as if he were mad for making such a preposterous statement. "How did you acquire such a-" she rolled her eyes, "-such a magical item?"

August face faltered. He did not take well to the sarcasm. "The Dragon."

"Oh! A dragon! Of course, how silly of me."

"He is known as the dragon, Emma! He clearly is not a dragon as dragon's do not exist in this world." Truth.

Emma's patience with August was growing thin. "Well than get onto it. Take me home."

He stood and dusted himself off. She crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow and she took in a deep breath before motioned her to come stand next to him. She humored him.

"Now what?" Emma was standing directly behind him as she shook his entire body and stretched his arms. "What are you doing?"

"Just trying to remember what it feels like."

"What is that?"

"The feeling of being alive." August took the black pearl and threw it to the ground. The faint clink of it hitting the floor echoed. She bit back the urge to laugh.

"Before we go-" he turned his head to look back at her over his shoulder. "Happy birthday, Emma." August took his foot and crushed the pearl beneath his boot. "Stand back!"

"Why would I-" and he mouth fell open.

Where the pearl had laid colors burst from the ground. They swirled and widened in a circular motion. Emerald green triumphantly extinguished the reds and blues and yellows. Emma gasped as she grabbed onto the back of August's coat.

"What is that?"

"A portal," he turned to face her breaking her grip on his coat, and pointed at it with his right hand. "That is how we will get you home!"

Wind began to swirl around the room. Emma began to breathe heavily before covering her ears. The wind was shrieking. It was ferocious. The air had become uncontrollable and thick with heat.

"We need to jump!" he yelled over the wind. Emma shook her head. "You have to trust me!"

"No!" He was mad. This was magic. This was magic she had read about in books as a little girl. It was unfathomable and unrealistic. How could something like this happen? It was af if he were a sorcerer. It was terrifying. "I will not go with you!"

"We don't have time for no!"

_Tick. Tock. _

August grabbed her with both his arms now and gripped tightly. Her eyes widened in fear for she knew what was coming. She quickly grabbed onto his jacket with both hands. He mouthed _I'm sorry_, before pushing her forward. Somehow, as Emma and August leapt forth into the shimmering green hole their grip to one another seemed to loosen its hold, and the path emerged a hazy jumble of colors. She could feel his fingers slipping from her arms and she desperately attempted to hold on as a warm gust hoisted her up and pushed her forward.

"Don't leave me!" she screamed as she slipped further from his hold.

As August slipped away from her grasp his features were changing. They became hard and dusty. His color changed to that of the oak trees she had seen many times in the park. She gasped.

"Emma!" August was pulled away and fading into a swirl of light.

"No! August!" 

* * *

The sky cracked open.

"Bloody hell!" He pulled the spyglass from his coat pocket and slipped it toward his eye. He saw something falling, quickly, through the opening. Shimmers of gold carried from the sky toward the burned ruins of the village before him. "Mr. Smee!"

Below the crows nest, tending to a map near the helm was a portly man who head was adorned with a red knitted cap. The entire crew watch mystified as the crack before them swallowed up the clear blue sky. The wind howled as the ship swayed. Waves crashed fiercely against her.

"Aye, Capt'n?" Smee yelled up now holding onto his cap.

"Ready a crew!" He wrapped a rope along his leg and gripped it tight with his hand before pushing himself over the crow's nest. He slid down gracefully before his boots landed with a loud thud on the wooden deck. "Prepare the row boat! Land awaits!"

All sound sucked from the air as crack in the sky closed. The once blue sky was now blanketed in dark grey. The earth shook causing the waves to become more wild. The wind pulled each direction biting fiercely at every man in its presence. A stream of white light magic burst through the village and over the land and thru the sea. It was so power it knocked each man standing abroad the ship to his knees. The Captain pulled himself up and smiled as Mr. Smee scooted to his side with his gaze glued to the now gloomy sky in wonder.

"What was that Cap'n?"

"Don't recognize it? That mate, was a portal."

Nine men on the port side of the deck scrambled to ready a row boat as the Captain and his first mate watched the ruins. Fear was rising in the first mate's face as he had a horrible realization that, in 18 years no one, not even the Dark One himself could summon enough magic to open a portal. When the Queen cast her curse every attempt to assemble a portal to leave the Enchanted Forest had failed. Whatever came through, Mr. Smee was sure it was most certainly powerful.

"Come on now, hurry it up!" The Captain ordered his crew. "Look at that sky! It's been far too long mates! Thank the Gods a storm is brewing!"

Rain plinked rapidly against the deck as the crew continued to work. Some stopped in awe as droplets of water slid down their skin. They had fallen mercy to the after-fall of the portal which had smacked the elements into overdrive- and each man was thankful for it.

"It hav'nt changed in 18 years!" Starkey, a lanky crew member laughed. "It beautiful en'it?"

Mr. Smee's eyes were pleading with the Captain to reconsider exploring whatever monstrosity awaited on shore, yet he feared to say anything once he saw his expression.

"Once I head to land, take the ship farther up North. I have no doubt that magic that powerful has caught the attention of this realms less pleasant residents. Whatever betides, maintain your courage Mr. Smee until I return."

He curtly nodded. "Aye." Mr. Smee bit his tongue and the feeling to argue. There was no doubt in his mind that the Queen, Dark One and sorceress would soon be in pursuit of whatever-or whoever came through. It was a race, one that he knew the Captain would be triumphant in.

"Captain!" A voice broke through Mr. Smee's thoughts. "The boat is ready!"

They turned their attention towards the crew. A simpering smile emerged on the Captain's face as he let out a small chuckle. "Excellent! Luck be on our side today mates! Shall we?"

Mr. Smee and his Captain parted ways. Once the Captain was lowered with three crew members in the row boat he ordered for the anchor to be pulled. He would head North and hopefully be hidden from the dangers that were sure to follow.


End file.
